


All For One

by elveriamoir



Category: The Musketeers
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 18:47:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3499022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elveriamoir/pseuds/elveriamoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In France there was once a group of brave souls. These brave souls were The Musketeers and a collection of more honourable, and brave men you will never again come across. Among this group of men three shone with the light of the moon in the darkest of nights, with histories to have stained the minds and hearts of lesser men they yet remained valiant in all their actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the BBC for making the new style Musketeers. They were never this desirable. Ever.
> 
> My first attempt at writing a Musketeers fiction. I would love to find out what you think of my work.
> 
> Disclaimer; I don't own any of the characters from The Musketeers. They originally belong to Alexandre Dumas, and since then several film and T.V companies, ending with the latest reincarnation from the BBC.
> 
> Warnings: In general there will be sexual content, slash and violence. Maybe even death. If homophobia and racism offend you I will apologise, however to remain true to the era I could not write without reference to them. If homosexual relations offend you then I ask you not flame me. This is your warning in advance. I will put warnings up for each chapter as I go. The only swearing is that which would have been present in that era.

Prologue.

Bonjour, mes amis. You have come to me like so few before you searching for the truth of the Musketeers of old. Well take a seat and I will tell you what I know. You prefer to stand? Very well then, where shall I begin?

They have been called many names over the years, even in their infancy and active eras. They were known as 'The Musketeers of the Guard' (Mousquetaires de la garde), 'royal musketeers' (Mousquetaires du roi) while their full name was 'Musketeers of the military Household of King of France' (mousquetaires de la maison militaire du roi de France). They were a fighting company of the military branch of the Maison du Roi, the Royal Household of the French monarchy.

They were founded in 1622 when Louis XIII furnished a company of light cavalry with muskets. The Musketeers fought in battle both on foot and on horseback, while also forming the royal guard for the king while he was outside of the royal residences. The Musketeers of the Guard wore an early type of military uniform with a tabard (known as soubreveste), indicating that they "belonged" to the King, and an embroidered white cross denoting the fact that they were formed during the Huguenot Rebellions in support of the Catholic cause.

Shortly after the Musketeers were established and then a second company was founded to report to Cardinal Richelieu. At the cardinal's death in 1642, the company passed to his successor Cardinal Mazarin, who disbanded his Musketeers in 1646. He revived the Musketeers in 1657 with a company of 150 men. At Mazarin's death in 1661, the cardinal's Musketeers passed to Louis XIV.

In 1664, the two companies were reorganized: one company took the name "Grey Musketeers" (mousquetaires gris) from the colour of their matched horses, while the second were called "Black Musketeers" (mousquetaires noirs), mounted on black horses. At roughly the same time, the size of the Musketeer companies was doubled.

The Musketeers were among the most prestigious of the military companies of the Ancien Régime, and in principle membership in the companies was reserved for nobles. With the reforms of Michel le Tellier, which mandated a certain number of years of military service before nobles could attain the rank of officer – many nobles sought to do this service in the privileged Musketeer companies.

In 1776, the Musketeers were disbanded by Louise XVI for budgetary reasons. Reformed in 1789, they were disbanded again shortly afterward during the French Revolution, before being again reformed on July 6, 1814, and definitively disbanded on January 1, 1816.

I am impressed, mes amis, you stayed through all the facts now with our history lesson over we will commence with the tales of those I know you are anxious to hear of. We all know the story of the Three Musketeers. We all remember how Athos, Aramis and Porthos came to be the most well-known Musketeers, the world over. Their history is as convoluted as the tales come to be told about them down the years. If you take a seat my children I will tell you their true story.


	2. Chapter 1 - An Introduction.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our story teller introduces the three Musketeers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame the BBC for making the new style Musketeers. They were never this desirable. Ever.
> 
> Disclaimer; I don't own any of the characters from The Musketeers. They originally belong to Alexandre Dumas, and since then several film and T.V companies, ending with the latest reincarnation from the BBC.
> 
> Warning: Drinking.
> 
> Warning: Gambling.
> 
> Warning: Mentions of sexual activity.

Chapter One - Introductions.

It is early for the night to begin, but despite the premature hour I wish for us to begin our journey. I am aware this is not the most pleasant of places to be taking you, but believe me when I say there are much worse areas in Paris. Now look in that direction, you can see that there is a single gentleman seated in the darkened corner of this taverne. His wide brimmed hat is pulled low over his eyes, hiding most of his face from sight as he seeks to seemingly drown himself in the cheap red wine he has at some point recently purchased from the barman. If one looks closely into the shadows thrown by said hat it can be seen that the gentleman has dark hair, is bearded and has a scar upon his upper lip. However, the gentleman has chosen this particular taverne for the simple fact its residents would not be peering too closely into those shadows, so be cautious. A leather pauldron is clearly visible despite the poor lighting, showing its fleur-de-lys proudly. It should come as no surprise then that this gentleman is of the King's Musketeers, regardless of the original depraved impression made by his singular disposition. This gentleman is indeed Athos of The Musketeers, but we shall leave him for now as we have disturbed his peace for too long and it is late, we must find his brothers-in-arms.

A town house of polite grandeur is our next stop. Come quickly through the front door. Quietly now, it would not do for anyone to discover us here. They are likely to be asleep by now and I do hope you will not disturb them. It is darker in here, more so than the taverne we just vacated, yet we have enough light to see by. Do be cautious I have no desire of a shot to my person, and since we are in Seventeenth Century Paris you should not either. Where was I? The gentleman on the bed, yes the one in his under trousers carefully holding the scantily dressed lady. A handsome face is it not, almost innocent when at rest, the golden blonde hair had been the downfall of many a lady, hopefully not this one, for when he loves, this gentleman gives his whole heart. His pauldron is likely on the floor, hidden by the mess that is his discarded clothing. I have forgotten the name of the lady and that is atrocious isn't it? The gentleman however is Aramis of The Musketeers. Come now, quietly mind you, for it is nearly dawn and I have yet to introduce you to the final of the three you have shown interest in, do close the bedroom door after you.

It is now very late, or stupidly early depending how you want to view it and soon I must leave you, however I will show you the last of the three you asked after. Now do try not to stare so much this time please. Yes I have brought you to another taverne, this one is slightly less seedy than the previous one though gambling tends to be prevalent here. Oh it must be indeed later than I thought for there is only one couple still at the cards. If you look to the larger of the two gentle…never mind if you look at the gentleman rather than the Red Guard, you will find the last of the three you asked about. He is grave now, for he takes his cards seriously, but I promise you his smile can light the darkest of rooms. I do not know how he got the scar over his left eye, and he does not talk of it. I can see you have noticed his pauldron yourself and the fact he must dwarf his fellow musketeers in sheer size and muscle. This then is Porthos of The Musketeers, and it is here you and I must leave for this is not our world. Come now before dawn breaks and we disturb things that are now but words on a page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: (French – English)
> 
> Taverne – tavern, inn, bar.
> 
> Barman – bartender.
> 
> A pauldron typically consists of a single large dome-shaped piece to cover the shoulder (the "cop") with multiple lames attached to it to defend the arm and upper shoulder.
> 
> Next the true story starts. How did you like your introductions?


	3. Chapter 3 - Rain.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> D'Artagnan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blame the BBC for making the new style Musketeers. They were never this desirable. Ever.
> 
> Disclaimer; I don't own any of the characters from The Musketeers. They originally belong to Alexandre Dumas, and since then several film and T.V companies, ending with the latest reincarnation from the BBC.
> 
> Warnings: Character death.
> 
> Warning: Violence.

Chapter Two – Rain.

"Come on you're tired Father." The voice could barely be heard over the rain that had been pouring for several hours now. Despite the mocking rejoinder he delivered, Alexandre D'Artagnan was more than happy to call an end to the days riding. They had made good time and would be in the capital by the morrow, hopefully with enough time to be granted an audience by the king before the court shut for the day. Wiping his face clear of the rain that had managed to trickle under the wide brim of his hat Alexandre peered through the increasing gloom at his son. His Charles was a good boy, and had accompanied him at a moment's notice, never once complaining of being saddle weary on their journey, in fact this was the first time he had suggested a stop and Alexandre very much thought this was because the boy was probably soaked through to the skin by now. While his travelling clothes had been of good quality when purchased, the taxes of recent years had meant they were no longer new and the cloak was likely to be no longer water proof, adding to the fact his boy hated to wear a hat then the rain had likely soaked him from the start, and despite his promises to his fellow farmers his boy's health would always come first.

"We shall stop at the next taverne then mon fils." The sigh of relief from beside him was barely audible and Alexandre couldn't help but chuckle softly as silence descended between the two of them again. Neither of them talked much, himself because he didn't want to overly worry the lad about the thoughts that circled his mind at all time, and he suspected his son merely enjoyed the time where he didn't have to learn something.

The next taverne was further than he had thought, and by the time they dismounted Alexandre would have admitted to any who asked that his Charles was a good boy, who took a great deal of care of him and made timely, well-judged decisions. As it was his son merely accepted the bridle of his horse in his usual calm manner and led the horses away to the stables, allowing Alexandre to enter the taverne and claim them beds and a hot meal.

Charles D'Artagnan shook his head fondly at his father's actions as he led the two animals into the shelter of the taverne's stables. He loved the old man, he really did, but why could he never admit he wasn't as young as he had once been. Charles was no fool and had seen the huge burden of debt his father had shoulder for their neighbours as the taxes from Paris had increased and were enforced with the arrival of LaBarge. His father had taken instant dislike to the man, even before they had found out of his duties and being a loyal son (as well as relatively intelligent) Charles had desperately tried to help in any way he could. He closed his eyes as he removed the horses' saddles and tacks, despite his help the farm had still suffered, and his neighbours had been worse. His father, being a wise man, had saved over the years, when he could, and had taken some of their financial burden on himself, simply so that families wouldn't starve. He had known it couldn't go on and so had merely agreed to come with his father the day the elder D'Artagnan had arrived back at the farmstead and said he was going to Paris to petition the king. Now he was standing alone in a taverne's stables, rubbing down two muddy horses and soaked to the skin. He hoped his father had managed to secure them a room and something warm to eat. A shadow flickered in the corner of his eye and he raised his head in time to see his first attacker.

Offering prayers to God, Charles allowed himself to slip into the fighting stance his father had taught him. Suddenly he found that it was important to find his father and make sure these cowards could not lay their hands on him. His opponent's eyes flickering expectantly over his shoulder gave him some warning and the next he knew Charles found himself with a dead attacker on his hands and the other injured, but fleeing. As he gave chase, his own voice sounding insignificant in the storm that had been heralded by the rain, Charles ignored the ache in his ribs and the feel of cold dread that had settled over his heart.

A few footsteps later he realised the uselessness of giving chase on foot after mounted men and turned to head back to the taverne. His father was coming towards him, and had obviously faced the attackers himself as his sword was in his hands and unable to help himself at seeing his father unscathed Charles darted forward to wrap the older man into a hug. Panic swooped through him as the elder D'Artagnan swooned in his arms, sword falling to the muddy ground as fingers became useless around its hilt. Pleas falling from his lips Charles lowered his father to the ground, trying to stop the blood he could now see staining his father's shirt.

Alexandre D'Artagnan could barely believe he was to die here, yet a day's ride from what he had set out to do, held in the arms of his defiant son and murdered at the hand of a Musketeer. Despite his pain and the darkness he could feel tugging at him he fought death itself to give his son a warning. "Athos." The word fell garbled from his lips and he doubted Charles had heard, so focused was the boy on trying to save him. Desperate he grabbed his son's hands, using the last of his strength to make the lad look at him, "Athos!" he gasped again, even as the darkness swept over him.

Stunned as he was it was a few moments before it sunk into the youngest D'Artagnan that his father was truly gone and he was now alone and now would be known as Charles Ogier de Batz de Castelmore, Comte D'Artagnan. As the overwhelming pain of grief and denial hit him he knelt by his father's body in the freezing rain by an un-notable taverne, D'Artagnan cried to the heavens, swore he would hunt down his father's murder. This Musketeer by the name of Athos would pay and pay with his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations.
> 
> (French – English).
> 
> Mon fils – my son.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I didn't dump too much information on you, promise that will be the last history lesson I give you.
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Bonjour, mes amis – Hello, my friends.


End file.
